


crash at my place, baby, you're a wreck

by pyrality



Series: scheherazade [1]
Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Crimebusters Era, Dirty Talk, Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pre-Roche, Romantic Tension, Sexual Repression, Sexual Tension, Sparring, nancy and liz as matchmakers, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 11:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrality/pseuds/pyrality
Summary: Walter thinks about how his eyes had lingered on Daniel’s silhouette the other night, graceful and practiced, chest heaving with the exertion of fighting off ten different people. His lip was split, his armored knuckles covered in blood, his cape torn, one glassy goggle lens cracked.He should look like any other mask, but instead he had looked like a vicious god made of silk under steel, of softness under bone. Rorschach worships a blasphemous deity, one forged under fire, a kindness still in his heart despite all of his hardships.Rorschach figures it out, eventually.





	crash at my place, baby, you're a wreck

**Author's Note:**

> you'll probably notice i switch between "dan" and "daniel" in the fic. i use dan when it's from dan's perspective or an action he is doing from rorschach's perspective while "daniel" is for when it's from rorschach's perspective or something idk like... quintessentially dan?
> 
> a character study for both dan and rorschach! liz and nancy from before watchmen rorschach and nite owl show up in here too bc who else are gonna give these two the push they need

****Rorschach doesn’t believe that his life allows for softness; this, he knows.

But he is already compromised.

He doesn’t know how Nancy figured it out, but she knew. She took a long time off before she started working at Gunga Diner again, the owner feeling that it was the least he owed her after everything that happened.

He hadn’t wanted to go back— it was his fault she had been hurt. If he had been there when he had promised as much, she wouldn’t have— mm. He didn’t know how to face her. But he was hungry and the diner was his only reliable chance at getting real food.

She smiled as kindly as ever, pushing a tray of eggs and bacon across the counter to him. “I haven’t seen you in awhile,” she said, not even angry or fearful or bitter or _anything_.

He wished she would be mad, he had thought, eyes on the silvery scar over her neck, long since healed.

“It is you, isn’t it?” Nancy said, quieter, almost inaudible, as she pushed a milkshake across the table to him.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
In the two years since, she has turned into his confidant. He does not know what he did to deserve kindness, to not only deserve her reassuring presence but Daniel’s as well. His life has no room for softness— it doesn’t _deserve_ softness. He doesn’t.

But sometimes he will walk her back to her apartment after her late night shifts and she will talk to him about everything and nothing at all. Sometimes she talks about the customers at the diner. Sometimes she will ask him how Nite Owl is. And sometimes she will talk about the woman she is seeing. He should be repulsed, should condemn her for her— depravity. But how can he? There is nothing but goodness in her, same as Daniel.

“He’s good for you, you know,” Nancy says, stopping in front of her apartment building.

He averts his gaze. Somehow he gets the feeling she can tell he did, even under the mask. “Good partner.”

“More than that,” she says, adjusting her grip on her purse. She sways and looks away for a moment. “Wa— Rorschach.” Her voice is soft. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Should be. Need to be.” He feels his hands clench into fists in his coat pockets. “Failed once before. Complacent sometimes. Cocky other times. Will not repeat past… mistakes.”

“This isn’t about me, Rorschach.” She pauses, checks her watch just to have something to do, and sways her weight towards the door again. “Nite Owl. He anchors you.”

“Anchor,” he repeats, word heavy on his tongue. He shouldn’t know what that means, but he does, and he is suddenly angry at how Nancy has him so figured out. He feels exposed, raw, _vulnerable_ in a way he hasn’t felt since he sat on a mound of decaying bodies as the Reverend lit the match and laughed at him. “You don’t know _anything_.”

She seems to have expected his anger, his vitriol. She isn’t afraid of him though.

“Maybe I don’t,” she answers finally, and doesn’t sound contrite or uncertain in the slightest. She turns from him, but her voice is not unkind when she says, “Good night, Walter.”  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
He lies in bed that night and he can’t sleep. His hearing feels like it’s more sensitive than normal. He can pick up the sounds of… depraved, illicit activities in his building, the anguished cries of an upset baby and a tired mother gently shushing them, the stray dogs barking in the alleys nearby.

Walter thinks about how his eyes had lingered on Daniel’s silhouette the other night, graceful and practiced, chest heaving with the exertion of fighting off ten different people. His lip was split, his armored knuckles covered in blood, his cape torn, one glassy goggle lens cracked.

He should look like any other mask, but instead he had looked like a vicious god made of silk under steel, of softness under bone. Rorschach worships a blasphemous deity, one forged under fire, a kindness still in his heart despite all of his hardships.

“Gotten soft.”

Daniel laughed, a rich, warm sound. He licked his lip, winced a little, and wiped the blood streak off his chin with the back of his hand. “Maybe. Good thing I have you to make sure I don’t kick the bucket out here.”

“Would never,” Rorschach had said before he could think it through. “Never let anything happen to you.”

There was a pause, brief, feeling like years to Rorschach, and Daniel had grinned, white splitting the night, lips still red. “That’s what partners are for.”

He feels filthy as he thinks about how Daniel would touch him. His body capable of as much violence as Rorschach’s own, but he won’t kill— he’s too soft.

Daniel wouldn’t let him hide. He would let him keep his mask on but pushed up to reveal his mouth. No hiding. He would make Rorschach be face-to-face with him as he touched him. His cock would fall heavy against Rorschach’s thigh, suggestive without being insistent, and his fingers would be so clever and calloused.

“So good, Rorschach, you’re being so good.” His voice would be rough and wrecked. “Love how you feel in my hand,” he would say, reverent— like he doesn’t know that Rorschach is the furthest thing from being holy. And Daniel would bite his ear, voice heated but affectionate. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Walter fists his hands in his sheets, eyes closed, trying to control his breathing and calm the flush rising in his cheeks.

Sometimes, he thinks about about Daniel yielding for him instead, asking him to defile him. He should be rough with Daniel, should punish him for wanting someone like Rorschach. Daniel Dreiberg should want better, not this… degenerate, filthy scum of a man, Walter Kovacs, only a step above the men they fight every night in the shadows.

Should hurt him. But he can’t. And he would never.

But he knows Daniel well enough to know that the man likes to be pushed around a little, likes being roughed up. He wonders if he’s capable of that. Of giving Daniel tenderness while he fucks him hard and makes him moan and arch his back for him.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Dan brings it up casually while they’re in the workshop. He’s wearing a white tank top, rumpled with engine grease and oil stains. The hem of it is rucked up around his waist, exposing the barest sliver of his waist. His shoulders are scarred and the muscles ripple underneath his skin as he works.

He looks illicit like this, Rorschach decides, and averts his gaze. God with his eyes on him. He’s not a sinner. Except he is. He is. He is.

(He wonders how Daniel’s gloved hand would feel on him. His knuckles are armored, the rest of the hand is a mix of leather and spandex.)

He’s been silent for too long, lost in his thoughts. Daniel has noticed, looking up from where he’s messing with his gadgets and over his shoulder.

“Rorschach?”

“Heard you. Distracted by… other concerns. Why do you want to spar?”

“What are you worried about?”

“Nothing,” he says, but it’s too rough, too fast. “Didn’t answer my question.”

Dan frowns a little, but doesn’t press him. Always considerate. Gives him space. Respects him. What does it mean to care for a man like Rorschach and ask so little in return?

He turns his attention back to the work table. “Well, Hollis trained me for years, as you know.” He waves a hand absently without looking at Rorschach. “You get used to sparring with each other. And since you think I’ve “gotten soft”, I figure I should practice more.”

“Didn’t mean it like that, Daniel. You were outnumbered. Joke in poor taste.”

Dan grins over his shoulder. “Not offended, buddy. I really do think there’s some merit in sparring. And you’re an excellent fighter to practice with.”

Rorschach flexes his fingers. He feels like they’re burning, tingling, scorched, like when he was seconds from catching on fire under the church. He feels warm under the mask, under his layers of clothes. He pulls at the scarf around his neck, loosening it. His voice comes out as a low growl.

“Won’t go easy on you.”

Dan’s still grinning. “Well, you can go a _little_ easy.” He grabs a rag off the desk and wipes the grease and oil off his fingers as he gets up. “I’ve seen the way you put guys out of commission for months. You still want a partner after this is over, don’t you?”

Rorschach doesn’t trust his voice to reply, so he doesn’t. But then he has nothing to distract himself with as Dan stretches his arms out and leans to stretch out his ribs. His back cracks as he twists and braces his hands on the back of his hips. He lets out a low moan of relief at the feeling and cracks his neck too while shaking his hands out.

“Geez, long day, I guess,” he hums, oblivious to the way Rorschach is staring at him, enraptured like the filthy degenerate he is by slips of skin and sweat and soft sounds. “Definitely could use some physical exercise.”

“Hnn. Put your armor on.”

Dan raises an eyebrow at that. “We’re just sparring, man. Kind of a pain to get into the suit just to tussle a little. ‘Sides,” he kisses his bruised knuckles, grinning mischievously, eyes glinting, “think I’d rather not hurt you with the armored gauntlets.”

Rorschach doesn’t even want to let his mind wander any further than where it’s already gone from the sight of Daniel’s mouth against his warm knuckles. “Hmpf. Will regret not taking the advantage.”

He follows Daniel over to the open area, where there are mats on the ground, a punching bag hanging in the corner. Dan spins around abruptly, lunging, and Rorschach sucks in a sharp breath as he ducks to the side. Dan’s smiling, pulling back and putting his fists up.

“You’re insanely fast, man,” he hums, shifting and posturing.

He keeps his eyes on him as Rorschach circles him, hands down by his sides, fingers straight and pressed tight together, poised. He springs at Daniel, ducking last second to jab at his solar plexus. Dan seems surprised, but he curls forward and pushes his stomach back, grabbing at his wrist and elbow. He turns with the momentum and throws his weight into Rorschach, pulling the arm around his waist to force him to stay close. He drives his elbow towards Rorschach’s gut as he moves. Rorschach braces his other arm over his chest and stomach, catching most of the impact of Daniel’s hit.

He grunts, shifting to get a leg behind Daniel’s knees and sweep him. He expects Daniel to fall and take Rorschach with him, but perhaps for fear of breaking Rorschach’s arm under his weight, he lets go of him. He braces both hands under him and nimbly backflips onto his feet again. Rorschach straightens up, clenching his hands into fists again as he watches Daniel’s eyes narrow, brow furrowed in concentration.

He finds that they’re rather evenly matched. Where Rorschach can hit harder, Daniel can hit faster. But rather than feeling frustrating, it feels good to meet his partner blow for blow, calculating his next move as he watches Daniel do the same. It’s equal parts mind games and martial skill. He finds it thrilling, stimulating to be given such a good fight. They lose track of time and before long, it’s obvious that they’re both tired, breath coming in fast, chests heaving.

The front of Daniel’s tanktop is damp with sweat, so Rorschach wraps a hand into the cloth and tugs him forward and headbutts him.

Dan grunts and fists his own hands into Rorschach’s trench coat and scarf and yanks them, twisting to shove him against the wall. It’s not just the way the air gets shoved out of his lungs from the force of it— it’s the way Daniel is suddenly too close, breath fanning over the latex of his mask. Rorschach hooks his foot around the back of his ankle and pushes. Without leverage, Dan lets himself fall, pulling Rorschach with him. As soon as he hits the mat, Daniel is already moving to grapple out of his grasp. Rorschach hangs on tighter, dirty leather slipping against slick skin as he grabs his arm and pins him, other hand on his chest.

Dan takes a move out of his book and headbutts him. Rorschach jolts, ears ringing. Dan swings his free hand around to twist across his front to grab along the side of Rorschach’s head and shove him off, thumbnail digging into his neck painfully. He rolls over on top and grabs at both of his wrists, pinning them down as he straddles his waist to keep Rorschach from kneeing his crotch.

And suddenly, Rorschach is out of breath, tired of fighting, too aware instead of the heat under his own sweat-slick skin.

Too aware of the heat radiating off of Daniel’s body.

“Tired?” Dan asks, lips pulled up in an exhausted but victorious smile.

“Hn. Not the only one winded.”

But Dan doesn’t respond, seemingly distracted. He looks down at how he’s got Rorschach pinned beneath him, gaze glassy and enraptured.

Daniel strokes his wrist with his thumb, can probably feel his spiking pulse. His fluffy hair is sweat-damp, dripping against his skin and his eyes are bright, wondrous. Rorschach wonders what it is he sees. He should push him off— he’s stronger and if he moves fast enough, he can flip them over again and get up while Daniel seems… distracted.

“Rorschach,” Daniel breathes, quiet.

It makes him shiver. He turns his head away. “Have already won, Nite Owl. No need to gloat.”

Daniel laughs, short, startled. Rorschach wants to hear it again. “I like to think I’m a gracious winner _and_ loser. No gloating.”

But he doesn’t move, and his thumb is still pressed to Rorschach’s pulse. He shifts finally, knees moving to raise his hips up, the movement awkward. He licks his lips, nervous.

“Okay, well. I’m, uh, gonna get up,” he says, breath a little short. His cheeks are flushing with color and Rorschach feels himself stare, entranced. “Don’t… knee me or anything.”

“Not so underhanded, Nite Owl.”

“Ah, okay.” Dan finally lets go of his wrists and scrambles to his feet and turns around, practically jogging towards his work desk. “That was, uh, good,” he says quickly, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders.

The muscles in his back ripple under his shirt at the movement. Rorschach’s gaze lingers there, shamefully distracted, but not enough to not notice Daniel’s weird gait as he walks.

Ah.

When Dan turns back around, he only catches glimpse of shadows across Rorschach’s trench coat before he’s gone.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
_Shameful_ , he thinks, gasping into the back of his hand against rough, dirty leather of his gloved hand and wishing it was the cool feel of Daniel’s armored gauntlets against his skin instead.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Okay, so, he clearly spooked Rorschach.

And it figures he has a very nosy woman in his business about it.

“I haven’t seen you two running around together lately,” Liz had said by way of greeting. She’s sitting across his kitchen table right now, circling the rim of her wine glass with her nails, a knowing smile on her face. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Don’t start, please.”

Liz hums, picking up her glass and swirling the wine. “I _have_ seen him though. Seems a bit… tense.”

“He’s always tense.”

She clicks her tongue, voice dropping to a low purr. “That’s what happens when you don’t take care of yourself—”

Dan feels his cheeks flush and looks away. “Ugh, stop it, always with your innuendos. He’ll come around. I’m sure he’s just… working through his own issues.”

Liz laughs, setting her glass back down and leaning against the back of her seat. “Come now, Dan, you and I both know Rorschach has too many _issues_ to work through. Now that’s a man who never worked out his feelings towards his mother in a healthy way.”

“You can’t— You don’t know that.”

Liz’s mouth presses in a line and she holds his gaze, serious. She taps her fingernails along the kitchen table. “Children who grow up with sex workers as mothers always carry some of that shame with them, no matter how much they don’t want to. Product of society.”

“I… he doesn’t need to feel ashamed.”

“Doesn’t matter what you think, Dan. You carry your own weight, your own baggage, don’t you?” She doesn’t wait for him to respond. “You know he thinks himself a degenerate.”

She’s not off the mark. It should concern him more that Liz is so observant despite the very few times they’ve interacted since the incident with the Reverend. But Dan is— he’s selfish and sometimes he finds himself lost when it comes to figuring out the puzzle that is Rorschach. He wants to know what she thinks, wants to understand Rorschach more, wants to put his hands on him and—

“Men like that,” Liz continues, eyes distant, voice soft and thoughtful as she leans her cheek into her hand, “they always reach a tipping point. Bitter and fearful. They don’t know how to express affection and sexuality in ways that don’t lead back to shame and self-loathing.”

Dan’s breath hitches. “Liz. What are you saying?”

She turns her gaze back to him, expression unreadable. “I’m saying, dear, that there are only two outcomes and if you aren’t careful, he’ll run away forever, never to return.” She stands up and leans across the table to kiss his forehead. “Because he’s scared of you, scared of what it would mean to mess with what he already has and is content with.”  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
At first, he thinks it’s Rorschach, then he hears a female voice, and thinks it’s Liz, but it’s the wrong octave.

And then, he identifies the franticness and fear lacing the voice as the person bangs on the door.

Dan snatches his cowl and pulls it on at least to conceal his face before he dashes to the door and opens it. He’s greeted to the sight of Rorschach slumped against a blonde woman in glasses and a silver scar on her neck. Rorschach’s trench coat and her hands and cheek smeared with blood. She’s barely holding his weight up with his arm curled around her shoulder.

“Please, oh, _please_ ,” she gasps, tears welling up in her brown eyes.

The next few minutes are a blur as Dan carries Rorschach over to the cot, heartbeat pounding in his ears, hands trembling as he rifles through his medical supplies. He’s never seen Rorschach this hurt before. The man is often sullen and moody whenever Dan had insisted on patching him up in the past.

The woman sounds equally distressed, sniffling, breath coming in in shaky gasps as she peels open his trench coat and pulls off his blood-soaked white scarf.

“Hhh,” Rorschach vocalizes weakly. “Fine, Nancy. Stop crying.”

“But you’re—”

“He’ll be okay,” Dan says, settling down next to her, willing himself to believe it too. He tries for a reassuring smile, but he’s pretty sure it looks like a grimace instead. “I just— I need— can you put pressure on the wound with this? I’m going to cut his shirt open and we’ll disinfect first and then I’ll stitch up the wound…”

Given tasks, Nancy focuses, her jaw clenched in a stubborn set and her brow furrowed in concentration, eyes alight as she does everything Dan asks. Rorschach slips in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently in between small noises of pain. Dan wills his hands to stop shaking as he works the stitches. It’s not a horribly deep wound, but the problem is he lost a lot of blood on the way here. Rorschach’s never been this hurt and well, Dan’s always been by his side to treat things immediately before.

He finally finishes up the last stitch. Nancy shakily stands up and calmly asks where the closest bathroom is. She stumbles up the stairs and in the next few minutes, he can hear her puke her dinner out. He doesn’t blame her and is, in fact, rather impressed she held it in that long.

He looks back to where Rorschach is unconscious on the cot, the lower left of his undershirt cut open, framing the long gash, now held together with a line of sutures. Not his neatest work, but Dan’s just relieved his hands worked at all. The skin around the wound is pink and red from irritation.

“Man, just what did you do, Rorschach?” Dan hears himself ask softly as he crouches down and tugs his cowl off.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
“So I, uh, caught Rorschach calling you Nancy earlier?” Dan slides the coffee across the table to her.

“Thank you,” she says softly, “And yes.”

He decided to keep his cowl off when Nancy came back down, feeling that there was no point to wearing it. He doesn’t have to tell her his name and he doubts Rorschach let it slip before either. There’s a long silence as she presses her hands around the warm cup and stares down into it.

“You alright?”

“Yes.” She looks up at him, smile weary and it doesn’t reach her eyes. But she seems appreciative of his concern. And then, voice quiet, only the slightest tremor in it. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

“Yes,” Dan says immediately, too fast, too loud. “He’s… He’s a kicker, you know?”

Her smile reaches her eyes this time. “Yes, he is.”

He can tell she would appreciate a distraction. As curious as he is about the scar on her neck and her familiarity with Rorschach, Dan isn’t one to pry into the mask’s affairs. Rorschach is touchy— always has been— about his privacy. And he doesn’t want to spook him again. He holds back a smile. For a mask called the Terror of the Underworld, Rorschach certainly is still scared of some things.

“Do you like birds?” he asks casually, pulling out the chair to sit down across from her.

“It _would_ make sense that Nite Owl likes birds.”

“Ah, well, what can I say, I’m a bit of a cliché.”

Nancy gives a polite laugh before falling quiet again. Dan scratches at the back of his head awkwardly and before he can open his mouth again, she’s talking, voice firm even if quiet.

“Nite Owl, I know he can be difficult, but… I hope you can see that he does care.”

“Yes.” Dan’s mouth suddenly feels dry. “Of course I know.”

Of course he knows. Rorschach goes out night after night and comes back soaked from the rain, the smell of gasoline and city fumes in his trench coat, the grime of alleyways under his boots. He comes back with blood on his knuckles. He thinks Dan doesn’t notice. He prays. Invocations uttered under his latex skin. He spills blood and he thinks it can cleanse the sickness from the city. He thinks it so because he wants it to be so.

_Soft on scum. Too young to know any better. Mollycoddled them. Let them live._

Rorschach might even be the one who cares the most.

“Nite Owl,” Nancy says, urgently, “I don’t mean just care about… what he does every night. He cares about you.”

Yes, he— he knows this too. The life they both lead, it doesn’t leave space for kindness and softness. But in the early hours of the morning, the rising sun highlights the shimmer of raindrops lingering on nonsensical black and white patterns and the rain washes the blood off of his knuckles and Rorschach turns to look at him with something just under the mask. This life, Dan thinks it _does_ leave space for goodness. And goodness sometimes can be kind and soft.

“Yeah,” Dan says finally, “I know.”

Nancy stays for another hour afterwards before she finally rubs at her eyes, exhausted. It’s three AM at this point and although he offered to let her stay in the guest bedroom, she’d politely declined, stating she still had work tomorrow.

Dan gives her a long coat to conceal the blood stains on her own jacket and then watches as she tucks herself into the taxi, smiling gratefully at him and wishing him a good night. He stays standing outside for a few more minutes, listening to the sound of the wind and distant hum of cars in the city and feeling the cold night air prickling against his skin.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Rorschach dreams as he fades in and out of consciousness. He dreams of reality mixed with fantasy. The warm press of Daniel’s fingers against his sutures and the terrible softness in his voice as he ponders what trouble Rorschach got himself into. He hopes Daniel doesn’t think it’s his fault. He’s not the one who ran away.

Rorschach thinks of Nancy, the way she kept emphasizing she knew how important Nite Owl really was to him. She knew he was running from his feelings. He doesn’t think she knows about the dirty illicit ones about Daniel’s hands pressed against his skin, but she knew about the dizzyingly fond ones about the very particular way Daniel’s lips curve in a smile when he’s truly happy.

He dreams of their first meeting, where he had ambushed Daniel in Archie after his first appearance as Nite Owl II. Daniel had been rightfully suspicious and he’s sure Hollis Mason has had his own stories and opinions about the Terror of the Underworld. But in the end, they struck up a lasting partnership.

A mistake, wasn’t it? Yes, it was. Partners. Now he can’t extricate himself from Nite Owl. He’s too invested now. It would be easier if he were only interested in Daniel sexually because it’s easy to satisfy sexuality, physicality. But no, he made the mistake of respecting the mask for his determination, strength of body, clarity of mind, and perhaps, most of all, the softness that still lurks beneath his armored skin, audible under the sound of bones breaking. Not so easy to deal with emotional objects. Objects in space.

Rorschach keeps dreaming.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Admittedly, he sleeps like shit. Dan gets some shut-eye adding up to a grand total of five hours and wakes up a little past 8am on Saturday. He stumbles through his morning routine before he brews himself a giant pot of coffee and drinks almost the whole thing in between bites of eggs, rice, and bacon.

Dan bites absently at his fork. There’s likely a very injured Rorschach still downstairs in the Nest under two layers of warm blankets unless he hauled himself home somehow.

_“He cares about you.”_

For as prickly and covered in sharp edges as Rorschach is, the man cares deeply about every single thing he does and every person he cares to associate with. Until last night, Dan assumed he was the only person that that category… encompassed.

Mm.

He’s being self-pitying and he knows it.

Dan refills his coffee mug one last time and makes his way downstairs. Seems like he has good timing because Rorschach seems to be rousing, shifting under his blankets.

“Hey.”

Rorschach makes a gruff sound, somewhere between a grunt and a noise of pain. “Daniel,” he rumbles, voice rough and dry.

“Easy. Think you should be confined to bed rest for at least another day or so before you’re up and about.” He comes to stand by the side of the bed, setting his coffee mug down and placing his hands up placatingly. “Sure you’re antsy, but I’d hate for you to end up bleeding all over my floor again. How are you feeling?”

“Hgh.” Rorschach reaches up to roll his mask to his nose and breathes in deep, slow. “Sore. Fine. What time is it.”

“Cheeky ten by now, I think.”

A long silence. “The woman,” he says finally, his voice carefully kept even. “Unharmed?”

“Nancy. And uh, yes. She got home safely last night.”

Rorschach doesn’t answer. Instead, he braces his elbows against the bed and tests his strength to push himself up. The lines in his neck pull with the exertion. Dan wants to put his hand over his throat, feel his pulse under his fingers. Stupid. But he’s hopped up on a _lot_ of coffee, even by his standards, so he opens his mouth anyway.

“So, you and Nancy are… uh….”

He doesn’t know how to word it carefully, phrase it in a way that he won’t upset Rorschach’s frankly sometimes _medieval_ views on relationships.

Rorschach, to his credit, only seems slightly scandalized by the implication, judging by the sudden scowl twisting his lips. But Dan thinks the mild response is because he’s still likely in serious pain and isn’t fully mentally present.

“Ah,” he says after a moment, mouth twisting further into a grimace, “Talked to Nancy while I was unconscious.”

“I mean, a bit. You were out for a long time. And she didn’t want to leave your side.”

Rorschach grunts and lies back down, apparently deciding that getting up is too much effort. He turns his face away, cheek pillowed against soft cotton. “Not romantic, Nite Owl. No interest in her that way. Feeling is mutual. See her as… friend. Confidant.”

Dan feels a selfish burst of relief, but there’s still lingering jealousy under the surface, uncomfortably warm beneath his skin. “Thought I was your confidant,” he says petulantly, half-embarrassed at his own pouty tone and half too coffee-high to care.

“Are, Daniel,” Rorschach replies, and Dan wonders if he’s imagining the slight hint of amusement in his rough voice. “Can have more than one.”

“Does she know your real name?”

Rorschach stills. "Mad, Daniel?”

“God, no,” Dan breathes out, and it feels like a punch to the gut. He puts his face in his hands, scrubbing his palms against his cheeks, feeling warm skin under his fingers. “No. I don’t know why I’m…”

“Not unlike you and the Twilight Lady,” Rorschach says flatly, and then a snort, “Without the loss of virginity.”

Dan’s mouth drops and he’s not sure what shocks him more, the fact that Rorschach just made a dirty joke or the fact _that he just made a dirty joke_. “Wh— How did you even—”

“Obvious you don’t get out much. Ornithologist. Not exactly a career in which men and women throw themselves at you.”

Dan pinches his fingers over his eyelids, reeling from the fact Rorschach just delivered a brutal critique of his sex life or lack thereof.

“Next logical deduction is you lost your virginity to the Twilight Lady. She certainly took to Nite Owl well enough,” Rorschach continues, voice still oddly even, with just a hint of something else under his flat tone. “Can’t imagine why. Skin-tight spandex flattering, but costume design borderline ridiculous.”

“Christ,” Dan manages to get out.

“Thought you were Jewish, Daniel,” Rorschach says, tone still mild.

Dan presses his hands together and looks up at the ceiling and wonders faintly if this is what having a mental breakdown is like. And it’s more than a little fucked up that his dick thinks getting called out by Rorschach is _more than a little hot_.

“You know what,” he says finally, turning his gaze back to Rorschach, who is quiet now on the bed and watching him carefully. “Forget I even asked about Nancy.”

The mask breathes out sharply through his nose and turns his head away. “Year one. Final victim of The Bard,” Rorschach says through gritted teeth. “Failed her once. Won’t fail her ever again.”

_So that’s where the scar on her neck came from._

Rorschach’s mouth presses into a severe line and his mask’s ink blots swirl. “Apologize for exposing the Nest to her. Had no adequate medical supplies at my… home.”

“No, no, of course I… I understand. I’m not mad about that at all.”

A long silence stretches between them with Rorschach’s face still turned from him. Finally, he shifts, pushing himself up until his elbows successfully this time.

“Will leave as soon as physically able to. Inconvenienced you enough—”

“You gonna tell me why you ran off for a month?”

The question hangs heavy in the air and for the longest time, he doesn’t move or answer. Finally, he shifts again, sitting up properly and looking away. His body language betrays his discomfort and when he talks, his voice is stilted, awkward.

“Know why, Daniel.”

Dan sucks in a noisy breath. He does know. Hoped it wouldn’t have been because of that. Leave it to his libido to fuck everything up. “Listen, I… it doesn’t have to mean anything. Or change anything. Of course I… still want you as a partner, but I’m not going to… force you to stay.”

It’s not dishonest, but it’s not the full truth either. Dan is okay with just being by his side, even if it means he’ll never get to see what it means to make space for softness in their lives, at the edge of dawn, bathed in the morning light of a sick city.

“Impossible that it doesn’t change anything, Daniel.”

“Okay, listen,” Dan says, suddenly feeling angry and in the same breath, unbearably tired. “I don’t even care about what you think about me, but don’t you dare come at me with any homophobic bullsh—”

“Not hypocritical, Daniel.”

Rorschach finally turns to look at him now, the ink blots swirling and Dan feels dizzy as he realizes how the black is darkening over his cheeks, over the tips of his ears. “ _Not romantic, Nite Owl_ ” he had said about Nancy.

“Rorschach,” he breathes. Then why did he run away? _Vain_ , Dan thinks suddenly, guiltily. It’s not as though Rorschach would be into him just because he’s a man.

“Had to clear my head,” Rorschach says after a moment. He presses his hand to his side, gloved fingers running over where his sutures would be under the blankets. “Distraction lead to careless mistake.”

Dan stands up and braces his hands down on either side of Rorschach’s waist, well-aware he might as well be trying to cage a wild animal. He’s feeling a little bold anyway.

“What were you thinking about?”

Rorschach licks his lips and Dan can sense him looking away under his mask. “Not answering that.”

“‘Cuz you’re not a pervert?”

“ _Daniel_ ,” Rorschach growls and god, Dan feels thrilled by the low rumbling tones in his voice. He fists his hands in Dan’s loose t-shirt, a snarl still under his breath. “Making fun of me. Don’t appreciate it.”

“Hey, hey, not making fun of you,” Dan says, managing to swallow back a chuckle. He raises his hands up momentarily in a placating gesture before putting them back down on either side of his hips. “I was the one who got caught being a little… excited when we sparred last time.”

Rorschach tugs roughly at his t-shirt and Dan can’t help the way his breath hitches.

“Masochist,” he accuses, low, quiet, and his Adam’s Apple bobs when he swallows. “Aroused from roughhousing.”

Dan flashes Rorschach his best smile and feels a jolt of pleasure at the way it makes his partner shiver.

“Aroused from roughhousing with the object of my affections,” he corrects, feeling dizzy and elated both at once.

Rorschach breathes out sharply through his nose. “Not a _game_ , Daniel.”

“Yeah, and who says I’m playing? C’mon, Rorschach, you’re a detective.” He reaches up and presses a hand gently along where the wound is, not enough pressure to hurt him. “M’not being difficult just for sake of being difficult. Read between the lines a little, buddy.”

Rorschach is silent for a long few moments, seeming to be studying the sincerity in Dan’s words, in the gentle way he presses his fingers to where his sutures are under two layers of blankets. The ink is still pooled heavy over his cheeks and where the mask doesn’t cover, Dan can see flushed pale skin and ginger stubble. He wants to scrape his teeth over it.

“Fool,” he says finally, loosening his grip on Dan’s shirt. “Making a mistake to willing choose this.”

“It’s a free country, Rorschach,” Dan laughs, reaching up to frame Rorschach’s face without touching him. “And I think I’ll decide for myself whether it’s a mistake to place all my eggs in this particular basket.”

Rorschach snorts. He reaches up to catch one of Dan’s hands in his own— his leather gloves are still on— pulling it down to inspect it as he swipes a thumb over his knuckles.

“Thought about it.” His voice is rough, embarrassed. Dan wants to kiss him and maybe never pull away. “Knuckles. Bruised under your gauntlets.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“God. God.” Dan does grab his face in his hands this time and presses his forehead to Rorschach’s own. “Wish it didn’t take you nearly dying for us to have this conversation, but better late than never.”

He tilts Rorschach’s head up slowly, giving him time to react in case he doesn’t want it. He turns his head at the last second so that Dan’s mouth lands on his cheek, prickling against the stubble there.

“Won’t kiss you, Daniel,” Rorschach says, but it’s strangely not unkind, “Have to earn it.”

Dan feels breathless suddenly, giddy, “Yeah? How do I earn it?”

Rorschach bites at Dan’s jaw in response, growls again and god, that should really be illegal Dan thinks as he shivers.

“Don’t always get answers when you ask questions, Daniel. Have to put in the work for it. Didn’t get Nite Owl reputation for free.”

“Heh, that’s true.”

Dan groans a little when Rorschach lets go of his hand to curl it behind his neck and tug him closer. He feels heat-drunk when Dan’s other hand presses almost shyly to his waist, steadying. Rorschach scratches his stubble against his Adam’s Apple and presses his tongue to his pulse. He ruts against the edge of the bed a little, just to relieve some of the pressure.

“Filthy,” Rorschach scolds, but it’s without the same kind of judgmental heat it normally has.

God, it just serves to make him even harder and knowing Rorschach would be scandalized to know that is an even weirder feedback loop of lust. Someday, he’ll properly unpack his kinks, but right now Dan thinks he might die if he doesn’t put his hands on Rorschach soon.

“Let me touch you,” he groans, nuzzling against Rorschach’s cheek. “Please, I’ll— I won’t kiss you. Play by your rules.”

Rorschach makes a low sound in his throat, almost a moan. “Trying to steal my virtue, Daniel?”

Dan almost laughs at the convent girl phrasing but then he chokes on the realization that _Rorschach_ is probably a virgin. He grinds his hips harder against the bed’s edge, hissing from how it almost hurts but he likes it anyway.

“Fuh— Fuck,” he whines, still breathing hard against his cheek, hands still curled along his jaw. “Rorschach. Want to put my hands on you so bad. Bet you would feel so _good_ …”

Rorschach’s breath hitches and this time, he does moan. “Touch yourself.”

“Rorschach—”

He cuts himself off when he sees Rorschach has his free hand pressed over himself, worn and dirty leather against violet pinstripes. He groans as he leans his hips back and reaches down to shove his sweats and boxers down to his thighs. The cool air of the basement against his heated skin is a relief, and he moans when he finally wraps a hand around himself, hips jerking into his own grip.

“Circumcised.”

“Ah, you’re not?”

“Heh, leave that to your imagination for now.”

Rorschach reaches down and unbuttons his own pants but he doesn’t push them down, instead slipping his gloved hand inside. Dan bites on the inside of his cheek and exhales sharply. He doesn’t know what hits him harder, realizing Rorschach’s touching himself with rough leather or that he’s not going to let Dan actually see his cock while he does it.

“Already wet, Daniel,” Rorschach growls, gaze still on him.

Dan whines, low and choked as he strokes himself faster. He tightens his grip under the head. Precum beads along his slit, so he swipes his thumb over it and smears it as he rubs slow circles over his cockhead. Rorschach’s breath hitches and Dan grins and keeps pumping himself tight there, letting more dribble out.

“You should take responsibility,” he slurs a little, breathless as he kisses Rorschach’s jaw again.

“Sound like a _whore_ , Daniel.”

Dan shudders and moans. Rorschach’s own rough voice betrays him as his own hand works faster on himself while he watches. Dan braces one hand against the bed while he keeps his other hand around himself and thrusts, fucking his own grip tightly. He feels almost delirious as he watches Rorschach bite at his lower lip to hold back moans. So a little crazy and very bold, Dan leans in and drags his teeth over an ear.

“God, Rorschach, you might hate me for this, but I want to fuck you so bad if, ah, you wanted me to.”

He honestly expected Rorschach to recoil in scandalized shock and scold him, but instead Rorschach makes a choked noise and _comes_. He shivers against Dan and groans and when Dan looks down, he sees cum on the leather gloved hand.

“Oh, fuck,” Dan gets out before he’s coming too, splattering against the edge of the bed and Rorschach’s trench coat.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Rorschach ends up moving to the guest bedroom afterwards to stay another night. It’s not as though he needs to— he could probably have left by late afternoon once the pain in his side faded a little more— but Daniel whined and begged for him to stay. He is weak for the man. There is nothing more to say.

Rorschach expected to feel guilty, dirty, abhorrent after… well. But instead, it just feels like a great weight was lifted off his chest. Relief. Absolution. Exoneration.

“Hey!” Dan appears in the doorway after knocking on the door. He jerks his thumb up to gesture behind himself. “All your clothes are in the wash. Should be clean by tonight, but uh,” He scratches at his jaw, looking away as a flush rises to his cheeks, “you really ought to stay—”

“Planning to.”

Rorschach snuffles, turns his head on the pillow. It smells like Daniel, a hint of his cologne and aftershave, Nostalgia. Probably transferred when he fluffed the pillows for Rorschach, the scent caught on his hands after showering.

“Hungry at all?” Dan asks, cheerful. He’s practically glowing with happiness.

Rorschach turns away further to hide the way his mouth twitches upward. “Pilfered from your fridge earlier.”

Dan laughs, the sound bright and happy. The sound twists Rorschach’s insides and makes his heart beat faster. He can hear his soft footsteps padding closer and he rolls fully onto his side as the man reaches the bedside. Dan leans over the bed, placing his hands on other side of his hips, lips stretched in a wide grin, the smile reaching up to his brown eyes. Sometimes Rorschach forgets how tall he is at just over six feet, all lean muscle.

“What, Daniel.”

Dan doesn’t answer immediately. “You know, this thing… it’s not just physical, right?” His voice is soft and his eyes are warm. Rorschach worships a blasphemous deity, one made of brown eyes and soft skin under metal armor.

“Dangerously sentimental, Daniel.” Rorschach tugs his blanket up sullenly when he mutters his next words, “Implication was obvious from the start.”

“Can I kiss you?” Dan asks, made brazen by his words. He hovers over Rorschach still, radiating warm heat.

“Don’t push your luck, punk,” Rorschach growls and feels flushed when he can spy Dan’s mouth still stretched in a grin. He reaches up and tugs his mask down over his face, well-aware it won’t help conceal his blush, but feeling less vulnerable with it on anyway.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dan replies, tone full of amusement and fondness as he finally leans back and pulls away. “Get some rest, Rorschach.”


End file.
